


The end comes near, face your fear

by JayBarou



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, No beta we die like archival assistants, Smoking, Timeline? I don't know her, insertion in canon, it could be gerrymichael if you put on your shipping glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayBarou/pseuds/JayBarou
Summary: This is the story of a foretold tragedy, you already know how it ends, but here we are, with time to spend, so gather around for the story of how Michael Shelly stopped being and the one person who tried to prevent it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Michael Shelley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

When he had visited the Institute the first time, he had only seen Emma and Gertrude. It had been straight to the point, and he had felt himself despair a little. He kept finding other Mary Keays even far from Pine Hurst. Maybe he attracted them, or maybe the world was just like that: maybe every person ended up living long enough to become cruel. On the other hand, his dealings with the Institute had been productive, so he would have to come back. He was used to dealing with Mary; this wouldn’t be that hard.

The second time he visited the Archives, he wore bright red eye-liner, just as a reminder for himself and a little warning to others. To show he was poisonous, venomous? Not to be fucked with. Of course, nobody had actually seen it that way, but he had done it for himself anyway.

Except... someone _did_ notice.

He had been so fed up with Gertrude’s bullshit that he had taken a break from it. He went to the bathroom just to be in a room where human life was more important than a tool lying around. There weren’t smoke detectors there, so he lit up a fag. And a moment later a guy came out from one of the stalls. He could have put out the cigarette, but instead he glared at the guy in case he would dare to say anything about it.

The tall guy had approached the sinks and met his eyes in the mirror unflinching, but not hostile, so Gerry toned down his glare.

“I like it,” the blond said pointing at his own eyes.

At first, Gerry thought the guy was taking the piss out of him, but that face was far too earnest.

“Thank you,” he answered, not knowing how to take a compliment. 

Gerry observed closely the guy’s slow and meticulous way of drying his hands.

“Not keen on going back out, huh?”

If it had not been obvious before, the way the guy turned his whole attention to the banal conversation confirmed it.

“Heh, not exactly keen, no.”

“Neither am I,” Gerry sympathised.

“At least you can leave,” he half-muttered.

“You assume I don’t work here too?” Gerry said a bit defensive, he was annoyed, he wanted a fight, he couldn't be blamed for it after his chat with Gertrude.

“Well, the dress code... as much as I love what you are wearing... let’s say I wouldn't dress like this if I had any choice.”

“What, you don’t go clubbing looking like you got lost in your grandpa’s closet?” Gerry looked up and down at the guy.

“Not if I can help it, no. My grandma had a better fashion sense.” Gerry suppressed a smirk and decided he wasn't looking for a fight after all.

“So you can’t leave. That sucks.”

“You could say that. But I’m sure there are worse things out there than having an office job."

“I don’t know, how do you feel about mining?”

“Hah, today? It sounds delightful. What about you? What made you hide in a bathroom in this part of London?

“Ger-trude RO bin son,” Gerry sing-songed not masking his disdain.

“She’s not that bad.” The guy looked confused, and Gerry confirmed his pet theory of Gertrude playing the innocent card frequently.

“To you maybe, but she absolutely _is_ that bad.”

“I, I guess? Maybe she is having a rough day.”

“I really, really hope you are right.”

“Me too, because I will have to see her today!” The guy let out a tired laugh. 

Gerry opened the tap to put out the butt of his cigarette and let himself smile a little.

“What’s your name, Gertrude underling?”

The guy laughed again, but easier than expected and offered a hand.

“Michael Shelley. And you, stranger?”

“Call me Gerry.”

And, unlikely as it seemed, Gerry had made a friend in the Institute’s toilets. He had visited again, and again, and once again, because that place seemed to have a magnet for lost people, and Gerry... Well, the less he mentioned it, the better for everyone.

> “Michael? I’m done with Gertrude, and I’m smoking one to celebrate, do you want to come?”
> 
> “Oh, are you done with _Ger-trude RO bin son_?” Michael mocked every time for the way he had said her name the first time. Too ominous, he said.

Michael had become his floating board. In a place and time when everything was bleak, where the end of everything seemed to be around the corner every other week, Michael was a safe port. Gerry corrupted him into taking longer coffee breaks than he should, and Michael told him about taking statements and the frustration of being unable to help anyone. They enjoyed bitching for a while, and some of those days Gerry could actually feel his mouth muscles hurt from smiling too much.

> “If you don’t let me pay for that I’ll tell everyone your tattoos are temporal!”

Michael helped him to remember the world was not just full of cruel people, there were some good things in it. And listening to him talk about whatever was going on with him that week seemed to also help Michael. Both looked somehow lighter after their chats. Gerry also enjoyed that, because it meant he could help someone without it being linked to a Leitner. In fact, Michael could very well be the only part of his life not linked to fear. It was mutually beneficial.

> “I’d invite you home, but you really don’t want to meet my mother if she's there.”
> 
> “Then come over, we could go to a live show and you can use my guest room.”

It was... He might actually have made a friend _friend_. An actual friend instead of a contact. It felt utterly strange, stranger than monsters.

> “Good news! No more office work for a whole week. Apparently we are going to Sannikov Land soon.”

The name had stayed with Gerry, not because it rang any alarms, but because it had an interesting sound. So when it came up with Gertrude he remembered. Gerry wasn’t sure when it dawned on him. Gertrude had mentioned vaguely a ritual that she would solve on her own, Russia, Lukas _helping_ , nothing added up. From the way she kept him apart, to the way the research was done, everything reeked of foul play, the usual with Gertrude. But he had not been working with the Archives for too long, so he had no idea if his suspicions were unfounded. For all he knew the Archivist stopped a ritual every month with her assistants.

He was a Leitner expert, not a ritual expert... yet.

But! _But_ ** _ **but...**_** Lukas and Sannikov, it wasn’t right. And Gerry knew he was useful, but he was being kept in the sidelines, that was not right either, and Michael was going to go, Michael who... No.

Maybe it had been the Eye, because those were not enough clues to be as sure as he was that Gertrude was going to use Michael. But he _was_ sure _,_ he was absolutely sure. He didn’t even remember what had flown from his hands when he jumped and sprinted all the way to the Archives. Too soon, barely 6 am, so Michael was not there yet, but _Gertrude.._. She practically lived in there, she had to be in.

He walked the hall on a warpath to the Archivist’s Office. He shouted her name, he shouted threats and accusations...

She was not there. Emma told him she was out.

He walked away, deflated. He didn’t have Michael’s number. He hadn’t seen the need for it when they saw each other almost exclusively at the Archives. He didn’t know where Michael lived, he knew the general area, but they had never actually carried out any of their plans of visiting each other or cooking quiche. He wondered if he should walk the area where Michael lived. He wondered if he should hunt Gertrude down. He wondered if he should smoke compulsively at the entrance until one of them showed up.

He never got to decide. While he was still pacing by the Institute a shadow came from an alley and dragged him from the scruff of his neck, downwards, but not with too much strength. First, he thought he was being mugged. Then he thought some skinhead had messed with the wrong guy. He even thought he was fucked up if whoever it was had a gun. And of course, he worried some random agent of the fears had finally caught him unaware. And somehow, _somehow,_ it managed to be worse.

“Hello again, Keay.”

He couldn’t answer back, because there was a hand over his mouth. Emma’s hand.

“I heard you down there. We could have done this the easy way. A nudge here, a push there... but you know your way around protections, you know too much for your own good. So you have forced my hand.”

Gerry was not built to pick up fights, even if that was what he ended up doing most of the time, but Emma should have been easy to overpower. Gerry just found himself not willing to; he simply didn’t want to. He had never felt the threads of the Web, frequently too subtle, too prone to feed on paranoia instead of actually getting their hands dirty, but this was the Web undoubtedly, and it was smothering him.

“You only had to do your part and let things happen. But now we need a more direct approach, don’t we? I thought I would have to get rid of you: Suggest to Gertrude you may end what Sarah started...”

Gerry thought of that other assistant, Sarah. He had not seen much of her before, but lately, he had not seen her at all.

“But... you still have some use, so let’s solve this without breaking our toys, hm?”

Gerry nodded, and he knew he wouldn’t have nodded in any other situation, but he nodded willingly. Meekly, the way he used to nod for Mary and he hated himself for it, but he made sure to hate Emma more.

“Good.”

Emma had a thread in her hand, and he didn’t need help figuring out where it was going to go.

By the time he stumbled out, his rage had not stopped burning. Even though he had his suspicions, he rushed away, without a destination in mind but refusing to stop. His mind slipped from any productive thought.

Gertrude was down the street, walking placidly towards the Archive, her “old frail woman” disguise in place. Gerry was going to trash her.

“¡Gertrude! ¡Gertrude!”

He stopped in front of her, facing her steel stare with his own.

“I can’t believe... You would...!” He was out of breath, but there was more to his halted speech.

“Come in, I don’t think we want to have this conversation out here.”

They went in, but the conversation didn’t happen. No matter how much he wanted to ask her if she had enjoyed trading her humanity for that cheap knock-off of a hero complex, he couldn’t. He felt the need to shut up, he felt thoughts of “it’s for the greater good” slipping into his mind mid-thought, intrusively, and the harder he tried to fight it, the harder he felt it pulling, coming from the thread going through his lips. Gertrude knew something was up, she had too much experience not to, but she didn’t care enough to find out what or why.

Gerry left, banging the door on his way out.

He had to do something, there had to be a way out, there was, he had not tried everything yet. He was not beaten. So he went through a stack of web statements, trying to find one that would rid him of the invisible threads on his lips. He was so focused that the hours passed and he didn’t know how many. The only thing that shook him out of his absorption was Michael’s voice. The reason the Web had targeted him and the reason he was trying to shake it off in the first place. He knew what was going to happen, but he approached with some trepidation.

“Hey, Michael, I... You are in.... can... we should... Coffee?” Gerry couldn’t, he just couldn’t. If he could he would shout. 

“Sure! If sitting here didn’t glue me to the chair permanently.”

“Good, that’s... great.” _Not_ great, but he would find some solution.

“Are you fine? You look... You look tired. Rough day?”

“I wish I could tell you exactly how rough.”

On their way out they crossed paths with Emma, who smiled _so_ brightly at them. But Gerry was not beaten. He had time; they could have a coffee. Maybe he could write in a napkin what he wanted to say? He thought he had written it, but as he was sliding it over to Michel he realized it was a drawing, of a web.

“Are you sure the trip is safe?” he tested the limits of Emma's restraints.

“Absolutely! Gertrude wouldn’t plan anything dangerous.”

Gerry huffed.

“But Sanikov Land is” not in any map, it doesn’t exist, she’s lying to you. It _will be_ dangerous, _for you_. This time she’s gone “too far.” Gerry heard his own altered speech, looked at the coffee cup intensely and debated just flipping the table. He almost missed Michael’s answer.

“It is not that far. I mean, it is, but it will be fine.”

Please don’t go, you won’t “Come back soon.” Gerry tried to convey so much in his tone alone, but even that came out plain out of his mouth.

“You worry too much. Hey, why don’t you come with me home after I’m done at the Institute? I’ll make that quiche I promised.”

I can’t, how could I? I’m “sure” I can still find a way around it. “I’ll go” down trying.

“Great. Now I really really need to go. Those statements won’t file themselves.”

Gerry was left with a cold coffee, and a dwindling willingness to fight. He spent hours trying to find a way around it, writing it down on his mobile, recording himself, asking the bartender to do it for him. Nothing. He tried in a different language, he tried pasting together words from a newspaper, like the weirdest ransom note ever glued together.

He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes.

He ended up going with Michael to his house, but nothing could lift his mood. If they had done the stupid quiche plan the previous day or the previous week when they had originally planned it, Gerry would have known where to look for him instead of being jumped by a spider at the Institute. But he was not done for. He tried to push against the Web, but he realized how futile it was when he played with the idea of burning down Michael’s flat while he was at the Institute -he couldn’t be expected to travel when he had just lost his flat- and the idea kept slipping off his mind. Not even thinking about plans, what was he going to do without a mind to think of a plan? 

“Are you sure you are fine? You have been weird today.”

“No, not really, I ran into Emma, and she left me speechless.”

Both were slightly startled. Michael at the hateful tone, Gerry at being able to talk at all.

“She” cursed me so I couldn’t warn you. Oh, _of course,_ that “was too much” to ask for.

“She can be harsh sometimes,” Michael volunteered. “But I mostly ignore her.” He shrugged with a complicit smile and Gerry had a moment of panic, realizing he would lose this. He was being selfish, but he would be selfish a thousand times if it kept his world from becoming the all-encompassing fighting of fears that it used to be.

And if he couldn’t fight the curse he would fight the caster. Immediately. Yes, that could be their loophole. There were plane tickets on Michael’s coffee table ticking away their time, but as long as he had an idea, they had a chance.

The morning after he made sure Emma wasn’t watching him when he slipped into Gertrude’s office. Emma had blocked him from preventing the situation with Michael, but she had been sloppy. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to tell Gertrude she was a dick for planning to sacrifice Michael, but he could do one better.

“You have a saboteur.” He didn’t bother saying _hi._ “Emma. She is with the Web, I think she got Sarah killed. I don’t know how to prove it but...”

“You have not warned Michael.”

Gerry’s thoughts screeched and did a double-take, but of course Gertrude Robinson knew already.

“Because your mole made me unwilling to!” he shouted.

“Hm, then that is proof enough for me.”

Gerry stood there, waiting for a reaction, anything. Gertrude went back to her laptop.

“Well?”

“Well what, Gerard?”

“You have a spider in your nest, are you going to sit there and do nothing?”

“She will be dealt with.”

“How? When? When it’s convenient for you?”

“Hm, yes.”

“Fucking great.” He put both hands on her desk, as if that woman could be intimidated by such a childish display. “Before Russia, get rid of her before Russia.”

“I’ll deal with it, Gerard.”

And Gerry’s only choice was to let her do her thing. He wouldn’t win a staring contest against her. So he retreated to the offices, where a familiar voice greeted him.

“Gerry! Look what I got on my way here!”

Gerry sighed. He dragged himself away from his worries to pay attention to his friend and the bundle of colourful cloth he had in his hands.

“What is that.” He sounded plain, he knew, but he didn’t know how to sound cheerful.

“A scarf, since we won’t be in the office in Sannikov land, I think nobody will mind terribly if I break the dress code a little.”

He let out a giggle and Gerry let himself collapse in a nearby chair.

“Here!”

Michael fumbled in the paper bag and threw another bundle at his face. Gerry caught it and unfolded another scarf, but black.

“I thought a gift would cheer you up. And if you ever want to talk about whatever is going on with your life...”

“Thank you, Michael." He clutched the fabric. "I really wish I could tell you about it.”

Michael nodded, serious and understanding. And Gerry wondered, he kept thinking, maybe he could tell him he was nervous because he was going to lose somebody, but... No, the Web did not allow even that. Fuck Emma. As soon as she was out of the picture he was going to scream so loud the statues at the entrance would wake.

He wrapped the scarf around his neck just to see Michael smile. Then he pulled part of it over his head and did an impression of Gertrude.

“That is confidential, Gerard. I’ll deal with it, Gerard. Don’t smoke in the Archives, Gerard...”

Michael was laughing, nervously checking the door. Gerry may not have it in him to smile back, but he appreciated a good laugh anyway.

Emma was gone soon after that. Gerry had nothing to do with it. Gertrude assured him she was dead, he was told she was gone. He had not stayed to learn the hows; he bolted. He ran, literally, into Michael at Gertrude’s door not 10 seconds after. Almost made him drop his things, then he clutched his arms, and indeed made him drop his files.

“What? Gerry, give a guy some warning!”

Gerry willed himself to speak, say something, speak.

“Don’t...”

“Gerry?”

It couldn’t be... It couldn’t be true. Emma was gone. He had not read it anywhere, it was just a hunch, but her thread should be gone, he had pinned all his hopes in that.

“Don’t? Don’t what? Are you okay? Gerry, you are worrying me. Gertrude, call an ambulance, I think he is having a stroke.”

“He is not. Gerard, quit your theatrics. So it didn’t work, it’s not the end of the world. You should know better than most.”

Gerry stared at Michael, eyes wide open as if that could communicate somehow his warning. If there was a time for the Eye to be helpful and pass the Knowledge, it was now, but... nothing. Michael stayed with the same worried face, worried for all the wrong reasons! Gerry half-turned and muttered darkly. “I will never forgive you, Gertrude Robinson.”

He left the Institute. He couldn’t deal with the disappointment, not in front of Michael. So Gerry went home that day and his furniture never closed properly since that night. His table would forever wobble and he wouldn’t get those CDs back any time soon. His arms hurt but he couldn’t quite feel them. He felt... nothing. Raging nothing. Helplessness. There had to be something else he could try but, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t _think_ with the Web’s threads all over his thoughts. And Gertrude, she knew, and she was going to go through with all of it. He sank next to the upturned sofa and looked at the cabinet where he knew he had beers, but that was not enough to get properly numb. Nothing would be, really.

He stared at the splinters of a chair. 

A small voice insisted he should be spending time with Michael and making him happy, because he would regret it if he didn’t.

He squashed that voice.

The next day he appeared at the Archives with the biggest bags under his eyes and went straight to Michael’s desk. He slapped a piece of paper in front of him. Michel looked up at him in confusion.

“I guess I found a use for that scarf after all.”

The best Emma’s restrictions let him do was buying a ticket that would take him to Dikson, at the edge of the Kara Sea, at the same time as Gertrude and her lamb for slaughter. He wasn’t sure what he could do with that, and the Web letting him do it was a sign the answer was nothing. Michael still smiled when he saw it.

“Wow, you really don’t trust me to handle myself heh.”

“No, it’s just that Dikson sounds _so_ appealing...” he laid the sarcasm hard.

Gerry had hoped some brilliant idea would occur to him before boarding the plane, or during the flight, or at least on their way to the port. But any and all attempts had failed him. He had not managed to talk Gertrude out of it, she had just kept going like a bulldozer. He hadn’t talked to her since then.

The Tundra got bigger and bigger, Gerry’s despair was growing at the same rate. Even Michael seemed nervous. Not nervous enough, still not for the right reasons, which only made Gerry grit his teeth.

That was where Gerry’s trip was cut short. Peter Lukas threw a lot of stupid apologies and explanations about how he couldn’t board the ship with them. Gerry would punch that man happily, but... Emma.

Michael tried to reassure him, telling him it was okay. He said they would have time to go to do tourist things when they came back. He wanted to hug Michael. Well, no, he wanted to drag Michael’s ass back to a plane far away from this. Or he wanted to go with them and go at whatever Gertrude had in store, blow it up before it could take Michael. But since he couldn’t do that, since he had lost already, since he was out of ideas, since he had to admit this was the end, he wanted to at least be able to hug Michael and say goodbye. Fuck, he wanted to hug him and cry, why didn’t the web allow him to cry at least?

Instead, he saw Michael climb to the ship, dragging a suitcase.

“I will end both of you,” he said once only Lukas and Gertrude could hear him.

Gertrude huffed something and boarded the ship too. Lukas stayed behind for a moment.

“ _You_ will end me? All _alone_ in the world as you are about to be, I don’t think your threat will keep me awake at night.”

Gerry didn’t have anything witty to say to that. His eyes went after Gertrude with as much venom as he could pack.

“Gertrude? you think so?” Lukas misunderstood his glare. “A strange place to grasp at straws. Did she tell you about her meeting with Leitner?” Gerry couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. “No? I thought she would trust you that much at least.”

And he left.

Gerry would have time to deal with that nugget of information. But he wouldn’t have time to do this again. He stood there, with nets on one side and crates ont the other and saw how the ship sailed away. He saw Michael waving, eyes crinkled but barely visible with his curls, the huge scarf and the hat. He wished he could see him properly at least one last time.

He waved back.


	2. Coda

Gertrude didn’t like having made an enemy out of Gerard Keay; the boy was persistent, and that alone made him dangerous. He was also an asset that shouldn’t go to waste if it could be helped. So she didn’t mind doing what needed to be done. The spiral was weak enough, she had a Lukas already doing something for her who would do even more with a well-placed wager. And then there was the Eye, of course. She could choose; the Eye could hide knowledge, te Spiral could obfuscate and the lonely could make you forget via not caring. There would be consequences, but that was a given; she would rather carry out her plan than spending her remaining years fighting Gerard too. She turned her gaze upon the shoreline, and struck a deal.

* * *

When the ship docked, Gerard was there, more relaxed than she had seen him in weeks. He didn’t wave, but he walked closer once the plank was down. His animosity was gone, he was smoking and she noticed even from afar his sedate pace.

“Are you done already with that mess, then?” He said instead of greeting.

Lukas overheard and chucked.

“Fuck off, Lukas,” he flipped off the captain. 

“Don’t worry, lad, loneliness is peculiar; It can’t grasp you if you don’t know how alone you really are.” Lukas left them with the last word.

“What’s up with him?” Gerry half-whispered.

“He likes pretending he is clever, don’t mind him,” she answered in a tone Peter could hear if he wanted to. 

They walked away and Gerry saw the suitcase she was dragging. She wondered if he would notice it had been Michael’s and if it would undo her deal.

“Is that heavy?” He asked.

“Are you offering to carry it?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you don’t need to know if it’s heavy.”

The deal stayed.

* * *

Months passed, and Gertrude had many irons in many fires, so she failed to notice in time the new door. Gerard had gone back to the car to get the gas and she had been finding a good place to burn the book. She stared at the figure in front of the door. It was smiling, it looked familiar. She told herself once again that she didn’t regret any of it, and once again it worked; her conscience was tamed after enough time. The figure still smiled at her with a familiarity that would have unnerved someone less prepared than her.

“There is not enough gas, Gertrude! I’ll check in the kitchen!” Came Gerard’s voice from the hall.

The spiral’s thing flickered its eyes away from her at the sound.

“Leave him. He won't remember you. He will destroy you on sight,” she droned, not giving anything away.

“ _Ahhh,_ he is still _useful,_ is he?" It didn't sound like the Michael she remembered. Not quite, but she had not known her assistant as anything but a nervous wreck, so who knew. "Don't you miss that at the archives, Miss Robinson? A helping hand?” 

“I would do it again, so no. Now stop bothering me.”

The Spiral laughed through the image of Michael, but at least it left well before Gerard came back. She never made the same mistake and protected herself and her plans from future apparitions. 

* * *

Sometime after then, Gerry was walking down one of those streets with same-face syndrome. He was on his way to what could be a victim of the Lonely. It was December and it was the coldest day of the winter so far, so he had taken a black scarf he didn’t remember buying. At one of the houses something caught his eye; a yellow door. 

He wouldn’t have noticed, but all the other houses were exactly the same and none of them had yellow doors. Once he had his Eye on it, he knew it was not a normal one. He stopped on his tracks, mostly because he didn’t want to have his backstabbed for ignoring the Spiral.

He didn’t hear or see anyone coming out but there was a guy in front of the door. Tall, blonde, a smile wide enough to make his own lips hurt in sympathy... He looked normal enough, then again, monsters wouldn’t find prey if they looked the part.

“What are you doing here?” Gerry spat.

“I don’t know,” the guy answered. It confused Gerry, but he knew he couldn’t afford being confused when he was so close to the Spiral.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Gerry wondered. The guy was not making any move, but he wasn’t going to be the statement of the dead guy who mistook inaction for a friendly gesture.

“You know, Gertrude mentioned you.”

“I’m... somewhat surprised that she did.”

Well, at least t was not another _I don’t know._

“So you embody the fear of fake friends, huh?” Gerry tried to go for his confident tone, but... the being in front of him looked genuinely confused. Despite the smile, Gerry could see... But no, Gerry couldn’t afford to see the thing in front of him as anything but inhuman, just the embodiment of a fear. “Weirdly specific, but you won’t get much from me. There is no fear of fake friends if there are no friends, huh? Checkmate.”

“Am I, that? I don’t know. I don’t think I am anything yet. But that... that is a thing to be. A thing that _I_ could be.”

It didn’t say anything else. It stood there, staring at Gerry... at his clothes? At his neck? It seemed to be lost in thought. It seemed to be thinking in circles. Gerry took a step back, it seemed like a safe enough move.

“You are a weird one.”

“Am I? Or are you, friendless watcher?”

He got lost twice in the neighbourhood after that encounter, but he wasn’t sure if it was the Spiral or just because every house was the same as the last one. Luck was on his side, because he never crossed paths with the yellow door again. In fact, nothing of the Spiral came for him ever again, for some reason. Not even when his headaches started, which would have been perfect for an entity that preyed in the doubts, not even when the pain grew so intense he actually voiced it.

* * *

When Gerard started mentioning headaches, Gertrude knew consequences had finally caught up with them.

* * *

> _The end comes near_  
>  _Face your fear_  
>  _Prepare your souls_  
>  _There’s no happy ending, no happy ending, no happy ending in sight for us_
> 
> _~The Mechanisms_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it was not clear. My headcanon here is that Michael was not quite formed, but Gertrude told Gerry the distortion was fear of fake friends. She only wanted to keep them apart, but she accidentally probably gave it shape.  
> Also, yes, I meant to imply that Michael's way of saying "Ger-trude RO bin son" with disdain in MAG101 was a trait learnt from Gerry.
> 
> If you want that little bit of extra angst, consider Gerry’s canon words “I think… I think I finally understand why she brought me back” when he is talking to Jon. Gerry thinking it meant Gertrude was giving him a chance to meet Michael again, finally remembering him now that he is dead in the book, without the influence of other fears... only to learn that Michael is long gone, and now some Helen has taken his place.


End file.
